


uncivil servants (or Ianto Jones and Q walk into a bar)

by thestarsarewinning



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Torchwood
Genre: (Bond), (Torchwood), Canonical relationships, Crack Fic, Crossover, Don’t ask me about the timelines, Drinking to Cope, I don’t even know, M/M, Multi, Pre-Slash, Q and Ianto deserve a support group, inspired by a tumblr post, non canonical relationship, there’s a lot of swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23260516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestarsarewinning/pseuds/thestarsarewinning
Summary: “Still pretending most of Cardiff doesn’t know about the existence of aliens?” Q flags down a different waiter and orders another round for the both of them.“Still pretending Bond isn’t running wild, causing mayhem everywhere he goes?”
Relationships: Ianto Jones & Q, Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones, James Bond/Q, Lisa Hallett/Ianto Jones
Comments: 18
Kudos: 142





	uncivil servants (or Ianto Jones and Q walk into a bar)

**Author's Note:**

> this is the result of me spending way too much time on tumblr and having nothing else to do under lockdown 
> 
> i have no right to anything, im just borrow these characters to play house

“You’ll never believe what Bond’s done this time,” Q grits out the second Ianto arrives. He doesn’t even wait for Ianto to sit before he launches into a diatribe that’s really more a creative string of swear words than any actual information, but Ianto understands. Q couldn’t really tell him anything anyway, even if he wanted to. Even if Ianto’s security clearance is technically higher than Q’s.

Ianto simply nods and signals for the waiter to order himself a drink as he waits for Q to finish.

“-a motherfucking arrogant cunt with more fucking scars than fucking brain cells; bloody chimpanzees would be more competent than that bastard and yet he goes out and what does he fucking do?”

“You’re the one who chose to work for MI6.” Ianto takes a sip of the drink discreetly left on the table in front of him and shrugs when Q glares at him, eyebrows raising almost comically as he parrots, “You’re the one who chose to work for MI6.”

Q’s drink dies a sudden death then, and he slams the glass back on the table in front of them before he slumps back in his seat.

“I did,” He acknowledges, tone almost, but not quite, apologetic. “God knows why, but I did. How’s your neck of the woods? Torchwood still working out, or do you want to move back to London and make new toys for an oversexed ape to destroy?”

Ianto cracks a smile at that, though it dies as quickly as it had appeared. “You couldn’t pay me enough to handle Bond. God knows my lot are bad enough.”

Q smiles wryly and nods. “Torchwood’s that bad?”

Even if he could say anything, Ianto isn’t sure he knows how to describe the latest disaster Torchwood had clumsily averted without sounding mad. There really was no way to explain that your coworker had unleashed the Black Death on Cardiff, along with a whole host of other problems, including a biblical monster - technically, your own fault too - and then you’d all killed your boss before he’d fucked off to god knows where or when with an alien wanted for questioning at all levels of government and beyond without sounding like you were asking for an extended stay in a padded cell.

“Bloody awful,” He settles on, turning his attention to his drink.

“Still pretending most of Cardiff doesn’t know about the existence of aliens?” Q flags down a different waiter and orders another round for the both of them.

“Still pretending Bond isn’t running wild, causing mayhem everywhere he goes?”

Q swears under his breath at the mention of Bond and necks the rest of Ianto’s drink without asking. “You know the official party line.”

Ianto does, for what it’s worth. _‘Bond is a valuable asset. Bond is a highly trained and skilled operative, working under his own initiative, trusted in the field to make the necessary judgement calls.’_

Right.

And Torchwood Three is an outpost making valuable contributions to the protection of Earth, not a group of dysfunctional outcasts who eat pizza and occasionally shag aliens.

When their drinks arrive, Ianto raises his in a silent toast and Q joins him. He can’t help but smile as he says, “To when I thought I wanted to be a teacher.”

Teacher, it had been, when he was eighteen and throwing ideas at a wall, hoping one would stick. Teacher, tailor, accountant, librarian, then Torchwood.

Q snorts in barely repressed laughter, but drinks all the same. “God, I remember. You were the only one of our whole year who had normal ambitions.”

“I was the only one at the entire university with normal ambitions,” Ianto mutters and Q laughs properly this time.

“That’s not entirely accurate. That Watson fellow wanted to be a doctor.”

“True,” Ianto’s laughing too now, and it feels normal, actually normal in the way nothing has been since Jack ran off with the Doctor and the PM started asking them to investigate possible Rift activity in the bloody Himalayas of all places. “God, I’d forgotten. Soldier wannabe, wasn’t he?”

“Yes. Though you’ll never guess where he’s ended up.”

“Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know, really. It’s nice to think some people live normal lives. And get to be happy.” Ianto loosens his tie and closes his eyes for a second, blocking out the soft lighting of the bar and Q’s concerned face.

Q merely nods, understanding. Sometimes, he wishes he’d taken that job at Google. Or with Anonymous. He does, however, say, “I was sorry to hear about Lisa.”

“You said that last time, too.” It’s strange to Ianto that none of the strain he feels at acknowledging the condolence doesn’t show in his voice, but, then again, he’s had plenty of practise by now. It’s been months, and everyone - everyone other than his team - has said something similar every time they’ve seen him. Maybe he’s simply become used to it, the hole in his chest that Lisa left. 

It’s like Q knows what Ianto’s thinking, because he sets his drink down and shrugs, though the gesture makes him look younger than he already does. “Still. She was lovely, Lisa. She made you happy.”

“I’m not unhappy, not now.” He means it, or at least Ianto thinks he does. Everything isn’t so dark anymore, not as it had seemed for the long months of Lisa’s...illness and her last few hours, nor the weeks after her death, when he’d felt stuck between his flat, the flat he’d picked imagining their future together after everything, and the Hub, facing the room she’d died in and the man who’d killed her. It’s clearly not enough, because Q gives him a look, the same look Ianto’s been on the receiving end of ever since he was an eighteen-year-old fresher trying to pretend he was fine staying at university alone for the holidays.

“That’s not the same as being happy-“ Q stops then, staring at Ianto intently, tilting his head and acting like he would like to be surprised but he’s really not. “Ah. You’re still...seeing Captain Harkness.”

“Shagging,” Ianto corrects, because there is a difference and it does matter, “And I was. Probably will be, if he ever comes back.”

There’s no judgement on Q’s face, which Ianto is grateful for. It’s hard enough untangling the mess that constitutes his thoughts on his own, let alone explaining how the constant ache of Lisa and her absence had lead him to fall into bed with his boss. He’s still not quite sure how to reconcile the brightness and warmth Jack had brought with the pain that dominates Ianto’s thoughts most of the time.

Q does, however, look sort of wistful.

Ianto collars a waiter and orders more drinks, waiting for them to arrive out of a sense of mercy before he asks, “How long have you wanted to shag Bond?”

There’s a moment where it’s all Q can do not to choke on his drink, but then he’s swearing again, loudly and unbothered by the other patrons within earshot. “Goddamn stupid fucking genius Welsh idiots- Fuck you, I never said- I- Why the fuck would I want-“

It only takes one quelling look from Ianto and Q falls back into silence, deliberately focused on the glass in his hand as he sighs, “Since I met him.”

“Fuck,” Ianto breathes, torn between impressed and appalled. It makes sense, though. It really does, given Q’s unique antagonism towards a man rivalled only by Jack in his ability to make people’s underwear drop.

“Fuck,” Q agrees, and takes another sip of his drink.

**Author's Note:**

> i’d love to see what you guys think..leave me a comment?


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